‘One day a man comes to her office. Anthony Kovacs—Hungarian-by-heritage, self-made millionaire. He owns a successful cinema chain but due to declining profits, retires from chasing skirt. He wants to take a more active role in his company, return its former glory. Trouble is Kovacs is a literary man; he’s only seen seven films in his life! He’s into poetry, words, that sort of thing. He’s only into the visual aesthetic when it comes to the weaker sex. He assembles a crack team of office executives to cogitate what films to purchase. They pay a visit to Carrie’s open-plan office.
‘Carrie sits at desk, feet up, flicking through snips of Snozzlebert Cumbercooch. Who should enter but “Mr Kovacs! Everyone look busy.” They’re all smitten; they’ve read about him in the papers; the time he flew a little two-seater Bonanza over La Tour d’Eiffel to impress the French missus. The time he made a diplomatic mission to Middle Earth; stopped the Palestinians handing out radioactive dictionaries to the Israelis.
‘Everyone in the office is going to pieces. And who should catch his fine dark Hungarian eye? Kovacs secrets his usual charm over her. Ms Carlyle is usually secretion resistant. But, after all, “He is a millionaire” and “It’s five o’clock on a Fridee and I haven’t been with a man since the solstice.”
‘“Look at the tramp, letting herself go like that,” her colleagues whisper perniciously in the corridor. However someone puts a firm feminist fist down, and rightly so, swaying the canaille.
‘Kovacs’ mission has taken a turn somewhat. But he adheres to his brief: “You have seen this film?” says Kovacs, indicating a certain Hungarian film about an old woman concerned with her hedge height. “I have,” says Carrie, batting her lashes and pucking her lips.
‘“I know that the protagonist is played by an American actor with whom I am vaguely familiar. During the film he wiggles his ears in synchrony with the underlying dramatic tension of the film. So when the climax arrives, he’s wiggling his little ears and we are feeling the full release! It touched you in your sweet spot—this Owen Wilson—or am I mistaken?”
Carrie Carlyle gives him the eye. She leans over and says “It was good” with no further elaboration (other than grazing his thigh).
‘Kovacs is satisfied and immediately purchases the rights to the film. But woe, if he had just heard more specifics! (Gracious.) If only Carrie had not merely contained her commentary to “It was good” and given her real opinion. Kovacs lost a ton of money on that cinematic squalor. Then, annoyed, he acquired Carrie’s company and laid off all the staff!’
Charles was puffing like a dragon, taken up by the events of his story.
‘So, wait, then what happened?’
‘I told Abbey.’